


A Book for Which a Library was not Needed

by Megkips



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, I Claudius
Genre: Ancient History, Drunkenness, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megkips/pseuds/Megkips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the process of writing his histories of Carthage and Etruria, it is noted that Claudius would send individuals out to various archives to help with his research.  On one occasion, the research saw it fit to visit him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Book for Which a Library was not Needed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinstripesuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripesuit/gifts).



> This is primarily drawn from the book I, Claudius rather than the television series and the date corresponds to that given in the book. I have attempted to retain some of the book's style. Title comes from p 216 of the 1961 Vintage Books edition

22 CE

Having embarked upon writing both a history of Etruria and Carthage concurrently, I found myself dispatching whomever I could to visit such and such library to bring back information to whatever historical problem appeared in my narratives. This meant I had no small number of individuals going in and out of my house in Capua. On average I would be send away five people every week, with three returning with some semblance of answer - either copied quotations from books or oral responses that had been diligently memorized.

Such comings and goings were the only things I concerned myself with, finding it easier to focus in a calmer environment. There were no surprise visitors, only those dispatched and the rare friend that had been invited. Only once did someone appear who I was not expecting.

I had found myself befuddled at the particulars of an Etruscan trade agreement and had sent out a trusted freedman to a library near Perusia in order to obtain what documentation he could to help resolve the matter. As I waited, I wrote of the alliance between the Etruscans and Carthaginians against the Greeks back when Carthage and Greece still warred for control of Sicily. I knew that it may be some time before my man returned and I wished to keep working in his absence.

It was half way through the narrative that one of my slaves knocked on the door of the room I used for writing, informing me that there was a man at my door, claiming to have been sent for. Confused, knowing I had sent for no man and concerned that it may be some sort of plot, I asked for the man’s name. The slave disappeared, only to return with a cryptic response. At being asked to identify myself, the stranger had smiled and said, “To look upon me is to know me.” The slave then mentioned that the man had some air of familiarity, now that he thought of it.

Only one man was permitted to identify himself in such a manner. Other boasts he had used in the past included “Augustus’ sibling” and “Vesta’s beloved” but the phrase he used to identify himself at my door spoke the most truth concerning his person. He was Rome given flesh and a voice, placed by the gods upon the Earth since the she-wolf had found Romulus and Remus and perhaps before that. He was present at all state functions, games and major battles and took part in all of them, all while never being publicly recognized for who he was. There was no need to, for his boast that to look upon him was to know him was true. All Romans recognize their land at a glance - there is no difference in recognizing the land’s incarnation.

I told the slave to let him in immediately, take whatever travel clothes he had and escort him into the triclinium. Anything else he requested was to be given to him without question, and I would be there momentarily, as I needed to conclude the paragraph I was in the middle of.

With that done - my mind temporarily forgetting how I planned to conclude - I myself walked to the triclinium. Rome looked as broad as ever, the mop of brown, curly hair matted to his head - presumably from riding. He had been given wine, bread and cheese and looked completely content with the service, sprawled out upon one of the couches. He rose when I walked in and greeted me warmly, ignorant of my confusion towards the gesture. Rome’s presence around the palace had not been a strange sight growing up, but he rarely interacted with anyone besides Augustus and Livia.

I returned the greeting as much as I could, asking him to sit down as fast as he had stood up. He did so, thanking me for the refreshment and offering a smile. My response was that it had been an honour to offer him such meager refreshments - and it was, make no doubt on the matter - but I was confused as to his visit. Rome looked at me for a moment, as if the matter was obvious, and then laughed loudly. It was a warm laugh, followed by an apology that he had not stated his purpose sooner. He continued, saying that he had heard of my recent inquiry at the library in Perusia and felt that he might be of assistance.

“I was not aware you had knowledge of such history,” I said in response.

Rome looked at me with some air of what I imagine was confusion mixed with offense. “I must. Such history touches myself as well as Etruria.” The emotion then fell from his face, replaced with the cheerful demeanour that had been there when I first walked into the room. “You were asking about Etruria’s trade agreements, were you not?”

“I was,” I said, then went about explaining what it was I needed to know. Several Greek authors had alluded to trade agreements about Gaul between the Etruscans and Carthaginians, but never mentioned their exact contents - only that they had happened. For the sake of completeness, I needed to know what they were and when the agreements occurred. I added that it was not the most important thing and that I myself only planned to include it in passing, but I wished to do more than simply parrot the Greeks.

To do more than parrot history from old Athenians was a noble thing indeed, I was informed, and so Rome began to explain the general gist of trade between the Etruscans and Carthaginians. Much of it was to ensure that their markets stayed separate, in order to give Carthage all but a monopoly on the Gauls and Iberians. Such agreements came before the Greeks attempted to take Etruscan land and continued for some time after. He could have the precise documents sent to me, if I required further detail, then asked quite plainly why it was I felt so compelled to write a history of the Etruscan people. “After all,” he said, now on his third cup of wine in the span of an hour, “They are no longer with us.”

The statement confused me and I said as such. I had met a number of people in my research who claimed the Etruscan civilization of that of Rome, although they all seemed to agree that they were living in the final Etruscan cycle. “My point precisely,” was Rome’s reply. “The interest is simply not there, unless the reader is another historian looking for edification.”

“Then I write for other historians, then,” I said. “And if I was not writing the history of Etruria, I would still need such information for my history of Carthage.”

This statement made Rome sit up with great speed, so much so that I half expected him to burst into a rage. He did no such thing, to my relief, only leaned forward with great interest. “You plan to write a history of Carthage?”

“I am in the process of it,” I replied. “I spent some time in Carthage in the house of Furius Camillus and became interested in the subject. I imagine even those who care not for history would find the subject worth reading about, since Carthage’s legacy is close to our own.”

“You could say we were close,” Rome said, “In our way. Where is it that you are in your writing of this history?”

I told him that I was on the matter of Sicily - mostly the founding of Carthage’s colonies and the many battles that they had with the Greeks over the island - when Rome began to bombard me with questions. They followed a certain pattern, asking if I had remembered to include the actions of general so-and-so or if I had known of the aftermath of such-and-such battle and how it had benefited the Greeks or improved Carthage’s trade. I listened to each question carefully, replying, “No, I did not.” At confessing my ignorance he would proceed to discuss the matter at some length, using pieces of bread to show the movements of legions or ships or slices of cheese once we had run out of bread. I put great effort into memorizing his words, for every time he concluded his explanation he would laugh that he and Greece were the only ones who remembered it now and once they were gone, no one else would know. Rarely did I ask questions during his explanations, as he was very clear in his narratives.

As he spoke, he called for new wine and the more wine he called for the more he spoke of Carthage before he razed it to the ground. He smiled when he boasted of it’s destruction, but when I asked him of the city at it’s height, he looked almost nostalgic. “You’ve not been to Phoenicia, I know, and so to tell you imagine Phoenicia would be pointless. What you must imagine are those ruins that you saw in their full glory with all the colours of Rome, but even richer and all the fabrics of Rome but more abundant and all the extravagances of Rome but even more so, for Carthage grew in wealth by trade and it boasted the best of Iberia, Gaul, the Italian peninsula and all of the East back before they fell under Rome’s domain. And, above all, tints of purple, for that was the dye they were best known for and almost the only colour that Carthaginians wore. It was easy to identify them here because of that colour - although from time to time you might find an Etruscan wearing an import and be deeply confused when they did not speak Phoenician!”

He spoke little of Carthage’s majesty after that, claiming that he could not be more specific because he was so young when Carthage was at it’s height. Instead, he spoke and laughed of the misfortunes that began to befall the nation, noting that they only began once Rome had gotten rid of it’s kings and began to emerge as a true power of the world. I asked him about the trade agreements that had marked the early relationship between the two, only for him to note that as time went on, the language became harsher and favoured Rome over Carthage. This much was true and no one who studied them with any sort of seriousness could disagree with the statement.

“Honestly though,” Rome said, draining his wine cup, “the way that Carthage acted as time went on, you’d think that my mere presence had all but brought his empire to the ground.” He shrugged, then demanded more wine be poured. “If only! No, it was a matter of timing. My sister always said that -- sorry, Etruria, sister’s just a metaphor -- that had I not arrived when I did we might have been friends, Carthage and I. Co-rulers. I maintain that it was coloured by her sentiment, but that might’ve been something to see. Carthage and Rome - friends!”

The tones that Rome had been using to describe his enjoyment in slowly weakening Carthage had become uncomfortable to hear - not because of the delight embedded within, but because the matter was so personal that I felt it almost unintended for anyone else’s ears. I said nothing on the matter, as it was still an honour to be deemed worthy to hear such a personal account of Carthage as both a nation and as Rome’s personified equivalent, and instead tried to steer him away from the discussion by questioning the use of the word ‘sister’ in relation to the Etruscans.

Quickly, as if the matter were trivial in comparison to the slow weakening of Carthage, Rome explained that as there was a personification of Rome and Carthage, there had been one of Etruria that took him in when Rome was founded. Rather than maintain a mother and son dynamic, she had taken that of a sibling dynamic and watched over him for a number of years, eventually giving Rome it’s kings alongside the forum and the state’s religious traditions. He said nothing more on the matter and in turn began questioning me again - how I was approaching each history and what it was that made me qualified to write these histories to begin with. I myself, at this point, had drunk quite a bit and so I mentioned that I had once endeavored to write a biography of my father only to have been told to stop.

“By who?” he asked.

“My grandmother, Livia.”

“Ah,” Rome said. “Did she say why?”

I nodded, explaining that she had thought me incapable of doing so, but adding that she likely had underlying reasons. Rome gave a wry smile. “Livia always has reasons. Ones I frequently disagree, with, but --” He stopped, snapping his fingers to jog his memory, “You caused some problems with your history of the Civil Wars, did you not?” This was true and I said so. Rome continued, “I tend to disagree with Livia on most things if I’m to be honest, but I think this was the correct decision.”

He took the last of the cheese from the table, chewing thoughtfully. “This is nothing against your father mind, nor against his sentiments towards a republic - I quite liked being a republic, you know - rather just a matter of the need to show a united family front. But you know that, and you know that’s why no one writes about recent history unless it’s glowing praise. And it’s also why you’ve chose to hide amongst the Etruscans and Carthaginians out here in Capua, is it not, Claudius?”

Again, I said yes, adding nothing. Rome then leaned back on the couch, asking if I had any further questions for him. There had been one I found myself thinking during our long discussion, and with some stutter, I questioned if all historians in Rome received such generous help in their endeavours.

“Only if they are not writing of me!” he laughed.

The answer was not the one I was expecting. “Surely I would think you more willing to help if it was a history of Rome.”

“Claudius, you know all historians look at history with different intentions - compare Livy and Pollio,” Rome said to me, almost chiding. “My words would be the most biased of all and put all others to shame! Moreover, because it would be me writing, no one would dare question my words. I would make an empire of my own history and be as unquestioned as Augustus on the matter.”

“And you are not biased on the matter of Carthage or Etruria?” I asked.

“I never said I was not,” Rome replied, “I have very strong feelings towards each - but there is no reason to be dishonest about simple matters of trade agreements or even how battles happened. They’re factual matters - you’ll note I was not very interpretive in answering your questions.”

“Even then, you have reasons to forget certain details,” I said, “Or to over-exaggerate others.”

“It would serve little purpose either way,” was Rome’s response. “An honest history of the Etruscans is something I would welcome. As for Carthage, well, I doubt you’ll write kindly of Hannibal no matter how much you favour the Carthaginians elsewhere in your history.”

We exchanged pleasantries for a time more, Rome thanking me - as had others - for my Balkan Summary years before and discussing the quality of life long away from the Palentine hill until Rome stood, reminded of an appointment in Pompeii. The place being some ways away from Capua seemed a pointless observation, as was the fact he was still deeply inebriated, and so instead I thanked him for his time and words. My slaves fetched his traveling clothes and his horse, and as quickly as Rome had appeared, he disappeared off into the late afternoon’s sun.

At his leaving, I ran back to my rooms and scribbled all of the conversation that I could onto any and all pieces of paper I could find so that I might reference them for later. Rarely were they complete sentences or even completed thoughts - only drunken notes of cause and effect that had no semblance of order. I was certain that I would recall their chronological placement once sober, and if not, the many archives and libraries I had already used would contain dates and descriptions that would place Rome’s information into the appropriate time.

Over the next several weeks after my surprise visitor, a number of deliveries were made to me from private owners. All were scrolls from this or that private owner, containing either personal accounts of the Punic Wars, letters from Etruscans to Rome’s consuls or other information that had come up in passing during my long talk with Rome. Each note contained a request for the item to be returned within the year, and so I spent a great deal of time reading through the scrolls and determining what information within them was useful to me.

I did not see Rome again until well after my history of Carthage had been published. I remarked to him that had I known the location of his home, I would have sent him a copy in gratitude. As it was, one of my dedications had been to one Marcus - the name he used to appear human. Rome had smiled and said it unnecessary, as he was happy to purchase the history. He then added that he found it as unbiased an account as possible and thanked me for writing it before excusing himself to continue on his way. I had wished to hear more of his opinions on the matter, but I knew the reason for his swift depature. This had been during Caligula’s reign, when even he was in danger from the emperor’s whims and forced to comply to the man’s every desire.

FIN


End file.
